


Public Transportation and Other Misadventures

by skatzaa



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Female!Bilbo Baggins - Freeform, Female!Bofur, Femslash, Public Transportation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9360422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: Modern Soulmates AU.Bilba nearly misses her stop. And also her soulmate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So the premise is this: when you hit puberty, everyone's voice sounds harsh and grating expect for your soulmate's. When you meet them, everyone else becomes less painful again.
> 
> *
> 
> Not sure how I came up with this, tbh. My first time writing Boffins, the Hobbit, or femslash, so lemme know how i did ;) Also, not beta-ed.

Bilba Baggins loves many things in the world, including tea and books and walking barefoot through wet grass, but the public bus system is not one of them. It’s often overcrowded, which means she is usually pressed uncomfortably against people much taller than her. _That_ means, on the rare occasion she must take the bus, she almost always misses her stop because she can’t see out the window. And _that_ means she has to walk several blocks to the library she works at, unless she’s lucky and the driver will let her off after her stop. 

Today is one of those rare days Bilba has to ride the bus, because her car is at the mechanic’s shop, and she’s reminded of the worst of it. 

The worst of it is always the voices, loud and overwhelming and just a little too painful to hear. Bilba loves her work as an archivist, and part of the reason why is because manuscripts don’t talk. She knows that once you meet your soulmate the discomfort of other’s voices goes away, but most people still talk quietly when in public out of respect for those around them. That never seems to be the case on the bus, however, and she can’t understand _why_. 

Just as she has a million times before, Bilba wonders what her soulmate’s voice must sound like, if even her mother’s soothing voice became unpleasant in comparison. They must have the most wonderful voice in the world. 

The person to her left falls right onto Bilba as the bus starts up again and Bilba is jostled enough that she catches sight of the front of the library as they go by. 

“Oh drat! Hamfast!” She cries. “Hamfast! I’ve missed my stop again!” 

The bus brakes as she pushes her way to the front. No one moves out of the way and they’re all still talking and it’s nearly unbearable. 

Dear Hamfast, the young bus driver, smiles at her when she reaches the door. “Have a good, Miss Bilba.” 

“Thank you, Hamfast, and you as well,” she says. Bilba pauses for a moment to pull out her umbrella—her curls are unmanageable when they get wet. 

Someone yells out, “wait!” as she steps off the bus. Probably another poor soul who couldn’t see it was their stop. Bilba hopes they manage to sort it out, but since it isn’t her problem, she continues to the library, hopping over a puddle on the way because these are her favorite shoes. 

It isn’t until she’s shaking the water off of the umbrella that Bilba realizes that voice—the one that yelled _wait_ —was Irish and feminine and not at all unpleasant to hear, even though they were yelling. 

She turns back to the street, but the bus is no longer in sight and there’s no one on the sidewalk. 

“Oh drat,” she says. 

*

That evening, after a long day of agonizing over a cup of tea and complaining to her manuscripts instead of actually cataloguing them, the bus is nearly empty, for which Bilba thanks the world around her profusely. Aside from herself and old Mosco Burrows, Hamfast’s evening replacement, there is only a tall, dark haired young man in the very back and a woman slumped in a middle seat, head down and arms crossed over her chest. 

Bilba nods to Mosco and sits across from the woman and sighs, thankful to be heading home without the grating sounds of strangers’ voices. She looks forward to making a nice hot supper and perhaps watching an old movie once she is home. 

She pulls a book out of her bag and starts to read, but the posture of the other woman is so pitiful that she can’t help but glance up every few lines. It’s rude to stare, especially on the bus when an ill-timed look can get a person in trouble, but Bilba just wants to make sure she’s okay. 

It has absolutely nothing to do with the rugged, muscular beauty of the woman across from her. Nothing at all. 

The woman’s dark hair is falling out of its twin braids and into her face, but Bilba can still glance at her bare arms, her hands with their long fingers, the glimpses Bilba catches of her collar bones as the motion of the bus makes them both sway. There’s a multicolored scarf looped loosely around her shoulders, more for looks than anything else. 

The woman’s phone beings to ring and she grunts as she digs it out of her pocket. Bilba drops her eyes to her book and tries to concentrate on reading. 

“Yeah,” the woman says. She sighs. 

Bilba reads the same line three times in a row and wishes she could do something to help solve whatever problem was bothering her. 

“Nori.” Her voice is sharp. “I promise you, I’m not moping. And I didn’t spend all day on the bus, no matter what Dwalin texted you.” 

The young man in the back starts coughing heavily, but Bilba hardly notices, because that voice. 

It’s Irish and feminine and the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard. 

Bilba finds herself staring but she can’t make herself stop, because this voice. It’s everything she ever dreamed it would be, and the woman attached to it is _more_ than Bilba could have hoped for. 

“Yeah, hold on, Nori,” the woman says. She pulls the phone away from her mouth and looks directly at Bilba. “Can I help you?” 

Bilba runs a hand over the back of her head, trying unsuccessfully to smooth her curls. It’s an old nervous habit, one her father never managed to break her of. She clears her throat and opens her mouth to speak and then thinks better of it. This woman, whoever she may be, is clearly strong and capable and beautiful, and probably has no need for someone like Bilba in her life. 

Bilba shakes her head and drops her gaze. From the corner of her eye, she sees the woman shrug and start talking again. Bilba stares, unseeing, at her book, letting the voice of her soulmate wash over her. This could be the last time she’ll ever hear it. 

No, she decides, suddenly sure. This isn’t acceptable. 

She looks up, ready to say something, anything in the hopes that she really is Bilba’s soulmate. 

The woman is gone. 

Bilba looks right, then left, and sees the tail end of the woman’s scarf disappear out the door. Bilba stands. The bus jolts to a start and she staggers backward. 

“Mosco! Please, stop!” 

Mosco does not stop. He glances in the rear-view mirror as Bilba makes her way to the front. His bushy white eyebrows are creeping up his forehead but she keeps walking. 

“Mosco Burrows you stop this bus right now or I will call your wife!” 

The bus stops so quickly Bilba nearly tumbles to the ground. The young man in the back is laughing. She rushes off the bus and looks to her right. 

The woman is nearly a block away and walking in the opposite direction, head down. 

Bilbo looks down at her favorite shoes, which have a two-inch heel that is _not_ suited for running. 

“Oh bother,” she mutters, and takes off her shoes and places them—and the book still clutched in one hand—in her bag. Then she starts to run. 

Bilba is not in the best shape of her life, but she is fast enough that this distance is manageable, even barefoot on wet pavement. 

“Wait!” She calls, once she is close enough to manage speaking with what little breath she has left. “Wait!” 

The woman turns around. Bilba keeps jogging until she is right in front of her. The woman’s eyes are dark and warm, and there are freckles on the bridge of her nose. Her earrings look like tiny fangs. 

Bilba leans her hands against her knees and takes a few deep breaths. When she feels a bit better, she stands up straight and looks the woman in the eye, despite the fact that she’s barefoot and her hair must be a mess and she’s at least fifteen centimeters shorter than the other woman. 

“My name is Bilba Baggins,” she says. “I’m an archivist and love tea and your voice is the most beautiful thing I’ve heard before. And I’d really like to get to know you, if you’re willing.” 

The woman smiles. It is the brightest, kindest smile Bilba has ever seen. 

“I’m Bofur,” she says. “It’s lovely to meet you, Bilba Baggins.” 

Bilba smiles back, breathless and happy beyond belief.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they went on several slightly awkward coffee dates, got ambushed by Nori and Dwalin on one of them, and Bilba got dragged to meet the rest of Thorin's Company. It's slightly overwhelming, but they're rather nice, in the end.
> 
> (Oh. And the young man on the bus is Kili. Probably. You can think what you want.)
> 
> *
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. (If you did, feel free to let me know!)
> 
> Read On,  
> Skats


End file.
